One week had passed since Eric had escaped Jordan’s balcony through the concierge room. That was seven sleepless nights, six brutal practices in the blazing Miami heat, five new bruises, and four ass-chewings from the coach for being distracted. Not to mention three canceled nights out with Stephanie, two missed appointments, and one hole in his heart. Add a partridge in a pear tree and Eric Higgins would be the saddest love song ever.

Not that he was in love. But losing access to a cock like Jordan’s was enough to arouse some pretty powerful emotions.

Practice had ended an hour ago, but Eric had spent the last fifty minutes in Coach’s office, getting one final ass-chewing for the week. Preseason was just a couple of weeks away, and there was no time for this distraction bullshit.

Or as Coach said, “No more namby-pamby bullshit on the field, Higgins. I see you looking all misty-eyed like a school girl again, and I’m gonna change your name to Nancy. You got it? Do you like the name Nancy? Girls named Nancy can’t catch a fucking football. It’s perfect for you.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell Coach his mom’s name was Nancy. And Nancy Higgins could, in fact, catch a fucking football. She was the one who had practiced with Eric after school when he was in grade school.

The verbal abuse continued for another fifteen minutes, and by the time Coach finally released him, the showers were all but empty. Eric stripped down, turned the water on extra hot, and stood under the stream, letting the water massage his sore muscles and wash off the grime of the day.

An image of Jordan popped into his mind, but he quickly brushed it away. Jordan was way too stressed out to be a good candidate for a long-term fuck buddy and Eric wasn’t looking for anything more.

He wasn’t looking for a man who made him feel seen for the first time in years. He didn’t need Jordan’s soulful glances or mood swings or that smile that made him want to do whatever it took to see it again.

He needed a simple arrangement with another hot guy who liked to fuck. That’s it.

No one is going to hold a candle to him and you know it.

Eric grimaced as he ran a hand down his face, sweeping the water droplets away.

Hell, Coach was right. I get one hand job from a quarterback and I’ve turned into a goddamned teen girl.

But it was time to put his big girl panties on and get the fuck over it before he ruined another week of practice.

Eric wrapped a towel around his waist and shuffled over to the lockers. He stepped into his jeans before wiping the fog off the mirror and studying his face for a moment. He looked tired as hell. He needed to relax, get back into his groove. That’s why he was not going to cancel on Stephanie again tonight. He needed to get out of the house and get Jordan out of his head.

A movement in the mirror caught Eric’s eyes and he turned to see Angel Rodriguez, one of the Marauders’ starting linebackers, sitting on the bench by the lockers, his head hanging so low it was almost between his knees.

“Well, if it isn’t the one, true A-Rod! Good practice today, man,” Eric said, moving over to take a seat beside Angel. “Seriously, you were looking great out there. You can’t even tell you were on the injured list last season.”

Angel sighed. “Yeah, then why is the rumor mill churning that I’m going to be cut before the season starts?”

Eric had suspected that was what was on Angel’s mind. The rumors started about three months ago, just as Angel was coming back to practice. There was talk that the team was looking for a younger, fresher linebacker—one who wasn’t at risk for permanent re-injury.

“Man, they’re called rumors for a reason. You know they start that crap and hope it motivates the players to up their game,” Eric said. “No way are they going to trade a veteran like you for some wet-behind-the-ears, corn-fed, farm boy. You’re the one, true A-Rod. Who would we pray to if you weren’t around?”

Angel’s face seemed to brighten and he laughed. “I suppose that’s true. If it weren’t for me, you guys would be a bunch of godless heathens. Nobody performs miracles like I do.”

“Well, almost nobody.” Eric flexed, making his pecs twitch higher on his chest. “I’m the exception, of course.”

“Higgins, I’m pretty sure you’re the exception to every rule written, man.”

Eric laughed and slapped Angel on the back. They stood and did the bro-hug handshake before Angel left Eric alone with nothing but his thoughts.

He remembered that “axe hanging over your head” feeling. It was how he’d felt when he’d been slated as a first round draft choice but ended up being a fifth-round pick. Nobody liked being picked last for playground kickball. But Eric was solely to blame for his fall in the draft. He had fucked up the entire last half of his senior year crying into his beer over the wrong guy.

The moment Tyler introduced his fiancée to the coaching staff and team, Eric’s world had come crashing down around him.

Funny how Tyler had never mentioned a girlfriend when he was sucking Eric’s dick for the previous two years, making big plans about what the two of them were going to do after Eric graduated. Guess his mouth had been so full of awesome, it had slipped his mind.

Eric pushed all thoughts of Tyler and Jordan out of his head and finished getting ready. Fuck the man drama.

He and Steph were headed to a fundraiser for a local school’s arts and sports program. And nothing was going to stop him from having a great time. He called the car company to make sure his ride would arrive in ten minutes and headed out of the locker room.

“You missed two appointments with me this week,” Doug Simmons barked. “But you’re fine to go partying tonight, I see.”

Eric turned toward the PT area of the locker room where Doug was cleaning up his massage table, a sour expression on his craggy face.

“It’s a fundraiser, Doug, not a night out with hookers and blow.” He winked. “And I’m sorry I missed my massage appointments this week, I’ve been busy.”

Doug snorted as he threw a handful of towels into the laundry basket. His strong hands were weakened with arthritis, but the man could still rub a knot out better than anyone Eric knew.

If you could stand the lack of bedside manner, that is.

“Yeah. I just bet you’ve been ‘busy.’” Doug snorted. “Your career will be over faster than you can swallow spit if you ain’t careful, boy. You should tend to your business before someone does it for you.”

Eric nodded and tried to look repentant. He should have known charm wouldn’t work on Doug. “I hear you. I promise to come in this weekend. I had a pretty bad hit today. I need a good rub down.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about your damn massage, boy,” the old man grumbled. His dark face was tight with anger as he ran a gnarled hand across his gray whiskers. He opened the door to leave but turned back to Eric for one more word of advice. “If you don’t get your act together, you’ll just be another punk nobody who used to play football.”

“Cut me some slack, Doug,” Eric yelled to the old man’s back. “It was one bad week of practice!”

Doug Simmons had been a Mississippi legend until a torn ACL ended his professional career almost before it started. And according to football locker room lore, he’d been nothing but sunshine and rainbows since.

If sunshine and rainbows were actually a cranky black man with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Marauders’ stadium that is.

Eric sighed, watching the door for another moment, waiting to see if Doug would come back and want to talk. But the door remained closed and soon the locker room was so quiet it started to give him the creeps.

Fuck it. Fuck Doug, Jordan, and Tyler.

He was going to go hang out with Stephanie, who was the kind of crazy he could understand and enjoy.